


you bloom inside of me

by jenuyu



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 05:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15236838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/pseuds/jenuyu
Summary: They say that when the person you love touches you, flowers bloom on your skin. Jeno’s seen this happen before to other people. He’s spent his childhood watching his mom and his dad walk into the kitchen with roses blooming across their necks and arms, and while his sister laughs into her hands, Jeno stares at the blooms and wonders when he’ll have something like that— if it’ll ever even happen.“You’ll understand once you’re an adult, Jeno,” his sister says, and she draws a flower into Jeno’s arm with the tip of her finger. He’s in middle school, just barely beginning to grow into his gangly limbs, and she knows it. “But you’re still just a little baby.”





	you bloom inside of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akajung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akajung/gifts).



> hbd rei ilu ♡

They say that when the person you love touches you, flowers bloom on your skin. Jeno’s seen this happen before to other people. He’s spent his childhood watching his mom and his dad walk into the kitchen with roses blooming across their necks and arms, and while his sister laughs into her hands, Jeno stares at the blooms and wonders when he’ll have something like that— if it’ll ever even happen.

“You’ll understand once you’re an adult, Jeno,” his sister says, and she draws a flower into Jeno’s arm with the tip of her finger. He’s in middle school, just barely beginning to grow into his gangly limbs, and she knows it. “But you’re still just a little baby.”

It happens for the first time the day he turns eighteen. He’s walking home with Jaemin, and when they stand in front of Jeno’s door, Jaemin wraps his fingers around Jeno’s wrist and pulls him in to give him a hug. Jaemin’s always been like this, too handsy, too touchy, but Jeno’s never minded. He revels in the contact, at the warmth of Jaemin’s touch, and Jeno doesn’t know if he can live without Jaemin’s constant hugs.

At least, until he looks down at his wrist in the safety of his own room and realizes, with a growing sense of dread, that there’s a ring of small daisies encircling his wrist, and that there’s only one thing that can mean.

 

 

But truth be told, Jeno has always been a little in love with Jaemin.

 

 

His first real coherent memory is of a boy running up to him at the neighborhood park and stealing one of his apple slices and popping it into his own mouth. Jeno screams and screams and screams until his mom comes running over to pick him up before explaining to him that the boy is their new neighbors’ son, so “Jeno, be nice to him and share your apples.” Jeno gives the boy as dirty of a glare as he can muster.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbles into his fist before pulling out a packet of chocolate from his pocket and offering it to Jeno. “Choco?”

It takes Jeno approximately two seconds to forget all about the stolen apple slice, and he’s clambered out of his mom’s arms and onto the ground again before he even takes his next breath.

“Gimme,” Jeno demands, reaching out for one of the chocolates, and the boy passes him the entire packet. Jeno grins before he rips the packet apart, sending chocolate flying all over onto the ground. “Oopsie.”

“Jeno,” his mom sighs, but the other boy darts forward to pick some chocolate off of the ground.

“Three second rule!” The boy yells, stuffing two into his mouth, and Jeno laughs.

 

 

A polaroid tacked onto his refrigerator at home shows two boys sitting in the grass at the park by their house, their faces and hands coated with chocolate. In the photo, one of the boys plants a chocolatey kiss onto the other boy’s cheek as the two of them laugh.

The caption underneath, scrawled out in a mother’s handwriting, reads “Jeno and Jaemin, age 4.”

 

 

Jeno grows up spending more time with Jaemin than he does with his own sister, and by the time they enter high school, Jeno has five of Jaemin’s shirts in his closet and eight pairs of Jaemin’s socks scattered around his bedroom floor, left behind from all the times they’ve spent their afternoons sitting against the wall and playing Pokemon.

There are traces of Jaemin everywhere in his room.

There’s a paper cup sitting on Jeno’s windowsill with a string attached to the bottom, and if he follows the string across the space between their houses, it’s attached to a paper cup that makes its home on Jaemin’s windowsill. They don’t use their string telephones much anymore now that they have real phones, but Jeno hasn’t had the heart to throw it out. Neither, it seems, does Jaemin. It’s a little reminder of simpler times, back when all they had to know was when their reruns of Pororo would air on Saturday mornings, back when they used to whisper their messages to each other across that string in the dead of night.

Even if they try to act like they’re the same as they’ve always been, Jeno knows that they’re just a little bit different now. They’re not in the same class, and their groups of friends and their hobbies aren’t the same anymore— Jaemin heads to the ice rink after school, while Jeno goes out to the track. It’s hard to walk home together when their schedules are so wildly off-kilter, and Jeno misses Jaemin the most during those days, when there’s an empty space by his side that used to always be there.

It’s hard, but he manages.

They still hang out, not-dates at that park near their houses where they race each other around the grounds and quick chats at the bubble tea place to grab something quick before going back home to study, but it’s awkward, stifled by the words he can’t say— the words he’s not quite willing to say.

 _I miss you_ , Jeno thinks whenever he watches Jaemin walk by with another friend, and he wonders if Jaemin misses him, too.

 

 

Another year passes, and although Jeno’s room is pristine and Jaemin’s things are all tucked into a box in his closet, although Jeno rarely sees Jaemin outside of the family dinners that his mom and Jaemin’s dad hold every once in a while, he notes, with no small amount of fondness, that Jaemin still keeps his cup phone on the window.

 

 

Jeno gets to school early on the first day of his last year of high school. He easily finds his desk, marked with a sticker with his name and student number on it, and since there’s still a good half hour left until school begins, he puts his head down to take a nap. He only wakes up when someone plonks loudly into the seat next to him, and he whips his head up, about to take a good look at the person who’s just ruined his dream so he can curse their existence for the rest of the day when he realizes just who it is.

“Hi, Jeno,” Jaemin says, and he grins, a touch of uncertainty in it. He cocks his head to the side, his hair flopping over an eye. “It’s been a long time.”

Jeno thinks, idly, that if he were a protagonist in a romance manga, Jaemin would be the love interest with sparkles and flowers all around him. He’s always had that kind of magnetic personality, but now, with his hair like caramel and his eyes like honey? It’s ridiculous how much Jaemin resembles the leads in everything Jeno’s read. Not like he’s read that manga to begin with, of course. Of course.

“Asshole,” Jeno says, reaching over to flick Jaemin on the elbow. It’s been so long, but the gesture still comes so naturally to him, and he knows Jaemin won’t take any offense to it. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” Jaemin retorts, and Jeno’s proven right when Jaemin kicks lightly at his shin. “You should’ve joined speed skating with me, then you wouldn’t have to get all sweaty on the track all the time.”

“You already know I’m shit at skating,” Jeno whines. “Haven’t I already fallen enough times for you?”

“I’d like to see it again. Oh, to see our school’s hurdles champion trip and fall flat on his face again.” Jaemin sighs, clearly imagining it in his mind’s eye. “What I wouldn’t give.”

“You’re the worst,” Jeno huffs, staring straight ahead. He watches as the girl in front of him taps the shoulder of the boy in front of her, watches as he turns backward to take the note she’s just passed him, watches as dahlias and irises bloom across their fingers when they touch. He watches as they flush, reds and pinks creeping up their necks and over their cheeks, and he feels Jaemin’s eyes on him, a heavy pressure that he doesn’t yet want to acknowledge.

He wants it anyway.

 

 

On a day he doesn’t have track practice, Jaemin takes him ice skating again. Jeno clings to Jaemin’s arm for dear life, and the one time Jaemin lets go of him and tells him, “Hurry up, you’re letting all of the little kids lap you!” is when Jeno makes a valiant attempt at skating forward and, instead of leaping gracefully to Jaemin, he trips on the pick and falls, unceremoniously and embarrassingly enough, in front of a class of kindergarteners.

Jaemin claps his hands over a noise that sounds like a snort had an illegitimate child with a howl, and Jeno contemplates lying on the ice for the rest of his life. It’s not too bad. It’s nice and cool, and oh shit, he think he might be getting frostbite on his cheek.

“Ow, my face is freezing,” Jeno mumbles, and Jaemin laughs, pulls him up to his feet. Jaemin’s hand is warm in his, and his grip is tight— not like a vice, never like that, but just enough that Jeno knows that he’s still there.

“I told you, just follow me and you’ll be fine.”

“You were the one who _let go of me_ ,” Jeno says, his voice teetering precipitously on the edge of a whine. “And you said you wouldn’t.”

“Alright, alright,” Jaemin acquiesces before a small _something_  collides into Jeno’s leg. When he looks down, it’s a trio of tiny girls all wearing matching kindergarten uniforms. “Jeno, how could you.”

Jeno stares at them, bewildered.

“Hey, uncle,” one of the little girls says, and Jeno has to resist the urge to ask _how old do you think I am?_   “I have a question.” She points to their hands, to where Jaemin’s hand is tight around Jeno’s. “Where are your flowers if you’re in love?”

Jeno chokes.

Jaemin smiles down at the girl, kind, sweet. “We’re not old enough to have them yet.”

“So two boys can have them? What about two girls?” Jaemin nods, and the girl turns to her friends. “See! I _told_  you! Don’t be dumb-dumbs.”

Without another word, the girls skate away, their arms around each others’ waists, and Jaemin’s hand suddenly feels too warm in Jeno’s.

“Kids say the funniest things sometimes, don’t they?” Jaemin murmurs, and he keeps his hand in Jeno’s for the entirety of their last laps around the rink. Jeno stares down at their linked hands as they step off of the rink, and he wonders if Jaemin can feel just how quickly his heart is beating.

 

 

It’s terrifying how easily Jaemin manages to sneak back into Jeno’s life. They still can’t walk home together because of their sports practices, but Jaemin makes a point of showing up at Jeno’s house fifteen minutes before school starts so they can walk to class together. Jeno’s always been awful at waking up in the morning, but he’s willing to do anything just so he can see Jaemin’s smile, as bright and exuberant as ever, first thing in the morning.

It’s like they never grew apart, never felt the passage of time testing their friendship. Jaemin’s socks are back on Jeno’s floor, and he leaves enough assorted accessories— rings, bracelets, caps— on Jeno’s nightstand for him to open up his own shop. They sit together on Jeno’s bed the same way they did when they were children, except it’s too small for the two of them to stretch their legs out, and Jeno ends up pressed too close to Jaemin more times than he cares tto count.

Not that he minds.

Because as much as everything is the same, there’s a lot that _isn’t_ , and Jeno’s come to terms with the fact that he likes Jaemin, and not in the way he likes any of his classmates, not in the way he likes any of his track and field teammates. He likes Jaemin in the way that makes his heart beat double-time, in the way that makes his palms clammy, in the way that makes his head spin like there’s nothing else that he could possibly ever think about.

But it’s a secret that he doesn’t want to keep anymore. Jeno gets his confirmation on his eighteenth birthday, when Jaemin whispers, “Happy birthday, Jeno,” into his ear with his hand around Jeno’s wrist and his lips brushing Jeno’s cheek, when all that’s left when Jaemin lets go are the ring of daisies around his wrist.

 

 

Jeno makes up his mind. He stands at his bedroom window and raps his knuckles lightly against the glass. They’ve taken to leaving their curtains open at night even though they’re both on the ground floor, and it’s for the sole reason that it helps them feel closer even when the space between them feels so far apart.

Jaemin, who’d been lying on his bed, rolls over and looks out of the window and over at Jeno.

“What?” He mouths, and he picks up his phone to text Jeno.

Jeno shakes his head, and instead, he motions to the cup phone on his windowsill before picking it up and opening his window. Jaemin scrambles to do the same, but his face is still scrunched up, confused. They haven’t done this in _years_ , and Jeno doesn’t even know if it’ll still work. Fingers crossed, Jeno puts the cup to his mouth, and he watches as Jaemin lifts it to his ear to listen.

“Jaemin,” Jeno says into the cup. “I have a lot of things I want to say to you.”

Jeno can practically hear Jaemin’s smile. “Go on, then. Say it. What is it you want to tell me?”

“It’s my birthday.”

Jaemin scoffs. “Of course I know that, stupid. I told you happy birthday just now already, what more do you want from me?”

Jeno shakes his head even though he knows Jaemin probably isn’t paying attention, too engrossed in alternating between holding the cup to his ear and to his mouth. “It’s not about that. It’s about what happened _after_.”

Jaemin looks up, and Jeno holds his wrist up in the air, the daisies on his skin almost gone, weathered away by time, and he hopes he’s read Jaemin right. Jaemin’s jaw drops before a smile bursts across his face, and before Jeno can register what’s going on, Jaemin’s already dropped the cup and pushed his window up all the way. He somehow manages to contort himself to squeeze through the window before dropping down onto the grass below and running over and knocking on Jeno’s window.

“Open up,” Jaemin says, and Jeno gives in, unlatching the locks on his window to let them go as far as they can, and Jaemin leans through the window, wrapping his arms around Jeno’s neck and squeezing through until he’s gotten far enough in that he can tackle Jeno to his bed, knocking the breath out of him.

“You’re insane, Jaemin,” Jeno chokes out, his head ringing.

“Don’t be such a baby, Jeno,” Jaemin chides. “You have such a soft blanket. No way that didn’t break your fall.”

They lay there, silent, and Jeno cards his fingers through Jaemin’s hair. It feels like cornsilk, completely unlike the dry straw he’d been expecting, and he leans forward just a little so he can smell Jaemin’s hair. He smells like cotton, too. He must’ve just showered.

“You’re so weird, Jeno. So cute,” Jaemin laughs before he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. “Hey, show it to me again.”

Jeno shows him, holding his wrist up in between them and turning it this way and that. Jaemin’s eyes track the movements, and Jeno watches as his eyes widen with something akin to awe.

“I did this to you?” Jaemin asks, a hint of wonder and amazement in his voice. “I did this when I touched you?” Then, quieter, “You like me?”’

Jeno looks up into Jaemin’s eyes, and, finding nothing but his own reflection in Jaemin’s eyes, nods.

Jaemin’s lips are soft on Jeno’s when he leans down to press his lips to Jeno’s, and he finds Jeno’s hand and laces their fingers together. Jaemin licks at Jeno’s lower lip, biting it just lightly before he pulls away to stare down at Jeno, and Jeno’s winded. He stares back up at Jaemin, and he knows his mouth is open, but no words are coming out.

“Jaemin,” he says, finally, “I think I like you a lot. Those years— those years when we weren’t with each other— were shit.”

Jaemin laughs, and he knocks his forehead against Jeno’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like I was, you know. Too clingy. Too overbearing. Too me.”

“I would never,” Jeno breathes out, and he takes Jaemin’s hand and holds it up to his face, showing him his own hand. “Look at this.”

Jaemin lets go of his hand, and that’s when he sees it— the pattern of tulips, red and yellow, radiating outward from Jeno’s palm. He traces them with his finger, almost reverently, and Jeno lets him brush his fingers up Jeno’s arm, along the crook of his shoulder, across his neck, and finally, up to his face.

“What do you see?” Jeno asks when Jaemin’s been quiet for too long, and Jaemin only smiles, only bends down to kiss him again.

“Here,” Jaemin murmurs against Jeno’s lips, and he presses his thumb against the skin on Jeno’s neck. “There’s a rose here, Jeno. I wish you could see it. It’s so beautiful.”

“Like you?” Jeno asks, and he doesn’t need to be able to see to know that Jaemin’s rolling his eyes.

“You’re the pretty one,” Jaemin sighs, and Jeno frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. He doesn’t like this.

“It wasn’t just me, it was you, too. I always liked you, Jaemin.” He turns his neck to the side, and Jaemin’s eyes dip lower, lower to the rose blooming across Jeno’s skin. “This was all you. So— please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” Jaemin promises, and he lifts Jeno’s hand to his mouth, presses a kiss against his knuckles, and another rose blooms across his skin. “Not again.”

“Alright,” Jeno says, and he loops his arms around Jaemin’s neck, drags him down, and presses a kiss against Jaemin’s cheek. “Promise?”

He holds out his pinky, and Jaemin links their pinkies together, shaking them, and a string of peonies spreads down Jeno’s finger to his palm, and down to his wrist.

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure this was 1000% inspired by [jeonghan](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dhk26BeUEAAK34o.jpg) and his ideal cut solo ;;;;;
> 
> and the flower meanings, in order:  
> rose: true love, daisy: innocence, hope, dahlia: grace, iris: a message, red tulip: declaration of love, yellow tulip: sunshine in your smile, peony: a happy life
> 
> [also look! a flower!](https://twitter.com/jenoluv00/status/1016190578185256960)
> 
> i hope u enjoyed it! as always i'm [jenuyu](http://curiouscat.me/jenuyu) at cc~ also i forgot to explicitly state it but jaemin ditched practice to walk jeno home on his bday >__< i'm still emo i love the idea of flowers on skin T_T
> 
> also edit: their bedrooms are both on the first floor!! jaemin isn't out here doing parkour or anything hdsgdj


End file.
